


The Depths Of Your Enchantment

by basketcasewrites



Series: Bella Inquietante [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Japanese Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Man-Eating, Pain, Quite Literally, They/Them Pronouns for Peter, Wade Wilson-Centric, supernatural creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basketcasewrites/pseuds/basketcasewrites
Summary: It was simple: an isolated trip into the forest that Wade had made multiple times before.Except it wasn't simple, and everything changes once he comes across a beautiful stranger.





	The Depths Of Your Enchantment

~~~~

"There's an evil in those woods," the broad shouldered, muscular bartender drawls lazily in his deep, gravel-like voice, cigarette dangling from the left corner of his mouth. Thick hair covers his arms and exposed chest, blankets over his grimy skin. He pauses from wiping down the counter and leans over the bar top, moving in closer to Wade to speak to him confidentially under the sound of the music playing loudly from the jukebox in the far corner. "If I were you, I wouldn't go in there."

Wade listens attentively and respectively to the man, his curiosity peaking. He nurses his drink -- the unnamed house special that burns his throat raw as it makes its way down.

He cocks an incredulous eyebrow at the bartender and resists the urge to snort, "You tellin' me all the stories are true? You really want me to believe that?"

The man meets his gaze, staring at him with a fierceness blazing behind his dark eyes. The smoke in the bar obscures the bartenders features, lending an eerie, near frightening, quality to his rugged appearance.

"I've been in this town almost my whole life and let me tell you something about those stories— none of them are just stories," he begins grimly, jaw set in a firm line. "There's something—  _someone_ — in there. Grabs you with the mos' beautiful singing, mos' beautiful music you ever fuckin' will hear-"

"Sounds a lot like a siren to me," Wade interrupts him, more sceptical now than he had been earlier. He slides his glass forward, across the narrow counter top, signalling for a refill.

"Seems you're a kid who knows his myth well. But this ain't nothing like a siren," he growls, topping Wade's glass up with more of the strong brew. "I know people, kid. People who go off into those woods and don't come back out. Nobody makes it out alive, not truly alive. Not truly. You can argue with me— I can see it burning in your eyes that you want to— you can chalk this all up to a beast running wild in there or the collective delusions of a small town, but we know there's something in those woods. A vicious, vile creature. Tearing apart this town, ripping apart families—"

"Leave the boy be, Logan," the man seated on the stool beside Wade suddenly speaks up, expertly cutting the bartender— Logan— off.

Startled, Wade turns to the man that has been hunched in the same position over the counter the entire evening but that he has not paid any heed to. He takes in the unruly beard covering most of the man's face, the long nailed fingers curving around his glass beer bottle, the long black coat reaching beyond his ankles and dusting the floor.

"Victor-"

"Leave the boy be," Victor repeats himself, mildly venomous, not lifting his head from staring at the bottle in his hand, voice a slight slur in his lightly inebriated state. "If he wants to go into those woods, let him. It is neither of our responsibilities if he lives or dies."

 

Wade hikes along the barely marked pathway, making his way through the slowly darkening woods. The setting sun paints the forest in shades of the deepest orange and red and yellow. Beautiful beyond comprehension, reminding Wade of why exactly he loves being out here.

His back bows slightly under the weight of his backpack. The bag sits comfortably between his shoulder blades, moulding against him in a way both welcoming and familiar.

As the sun sets lower in the sky over the forest, the trail before him grows darker and darker until he is forced to squint to be able to see just a few feet in front of him. Wade quickens his pace, hurrying his step as the clearing he had sighted days before becomes visible.

In almost no time at all he has his tent pitched and his fire burning steadily. He settles in, the bitter, cloying aftertaste of the alcohol from the pub still sits strong and distinct on his tongue. The thick bitterness like the lingering of bile in his mouth.

A shiver runs up his spine, one that he is not entirely sure comes from the sudden chill of the forest as night falls, or from the warning that had been given to him by Logan and, in his own right, Victor.

Stupid myths, Wade thinks, distractedly so, as he loses himself in the endlessness of the galaxies above him. Drifting in and out of a warm sleep-like daze until he is lulled by the deep earthy scent wafting to him over the  breeze and the distant ruffling noises of the woods; wrapped in the sweet gentle embrace of sleep under the star strewn skies.

 

With a start he wakes, hours later and unsure of what has disturbed his sleep. It is sudden, almost as if he had been grabbed firmly by the shoulders and shaken to an aggressive alert. He glances around him, eyes glassy and head foggy, noticing his burnt down campfire only barely as he rakes his eyes past it. Glazes over the windblown earth, strewn with fallen autumn leaves.

With a careful ear he listens, listens without knowing what it is he is listening for. Cocks his head to the side, a subconcious move that he is not aware of.

Wade hears nothing. The unknown sound that had jolted him has disappeared. Frustrating, it faded into the background as if it were there in the first place.  
And maybe it had never been. The woods, especially when one is alone, tend to play with people and their minds. With the innermost workings of a person's sanity. Picking at the weaknesses that they didn't even know they had.

He nestles into the cocoon of his thick sleeping bag, prepared to once again slip into the deep, complete sleep that came to him whenever he spends the night outdoors.

 

  
Music; soft, melodic. Drift through the trees towards him.

The sort of music that he had heard, had loved, on many of his journeys through the more urban parts of Asia. Music bringing forth vivid memories of smooth-skinned, slim-hipped boys with large dark eyes and of firm-bodied, curvaceous girls with sultry voices.

He sits up straight in his camping bag, wind blowing past him the sweet scent of cherry blossoms. Almost in a trance, Wade stands and, barefoot still, follows the cadence of chords working their way through the darkened forest. Moonlight shines upon the uneven ground, seeming to light his path for him.

Blindly, he stumbles over exposed roots, his feet being torn raw by the scatterings of the forest floor. A slim wet trail of droplets of blood follows behind him, yet he feels nothing— his body locked in this deep enchantment.

A shimmering, minute enough to just be noticed, gone in the moment between Wade seeing it and him blinking. He senses the change in the atmosphere, a strange lightness in the air that squeezes at his lungs. Makes it ever so slightly difficult to breathe.

It's as if he is a part of a dream— more on the hazy infringements of dream and awakening than anything. A strangeness, a sense of no longer being one with this world envelopes Wade.

Barely audible is the change in the volume of the music, yet to Wade it is obvious enough. He is near— to what, he does not know. Yet he cannot deny the anticipation that burns through him, a sensation that is almost alive. The racing of his heart, a wild animal throwing itself against the confinements of its cage. Yearning for freedom. Demanding it.

The glimmer that had caught his eye briefly and mere minutes, or hours, ago— with the constant flow and fluidity that embalmed this dream world, time means nothing, it could easily have been hours— caught his eye again. A ray of silver moonlight beams onto the water of a lake that, except for its gushing, muted waterfall, stood still.

Only for a second is Wade's step hesitant, only as he stands awed by the light reflecting off the water in the way that light reflects off the surface of glass, painting the clearing in glints of silver-white. Only for a second does he stop, standing at the edge of the forest, staring. Only for this second does he stop, long enough for the hands of fear and cold reality to try and fail at grasping him and bringing him back to sanity, Fear's strong fingertips just able to graze against the surface before the music picks up again and grabs Wade's attentions again. Almost as if the player watches and notices the man's reluctance.

Wade steps into the open space, the calm, clear melody surrounding him. Coming from each dark corner and crevice; coming from everywhere.

Eyes wide, glassy, he takes in what is around him. For the first time now, he glances the figure sitting beside the eerily silent waterfall. The person is hidden, indistinguishable as they sit, legs akimbo, in the only place not touched by any light. Even as his steps take him closer he cannot make out their features, obscured by the hair falling into their face. Small, petite even, hunched over forward, fingers gliding over the large silver harp placed in front of them.

"Hello?" Wade croaks out in a harsh whisper, throat closing up and leaving him unable to utter anything close to another word.

The person seems not to notice him, does not acknowledge him in the least, just continues to strum dancing fingers quicker over the harp, summoning Wade even closer towards them. Without complaint, his body obeys.

Equal parts wariness and excitement reside within him. In a part of him that lays now noiseless and disconnected from the rest of him, he feels dread. Thick, cloying dread.

Inches, bare inches away from the hunched figure, he halts.

Slim fingers continue to dance from string to string, continue to play the sweet music that had drawn Wade in. The musician carrying on in oblivion; not granting Wade their recognition.

"Hello?" Wade tries again, still rough, unintentionally harsh, but this time audible.

Fingers stopped midst their playing, laying idle on the taut string. Slow, yet not sluggish, they raise their head, wide, luminescent brown eyes meeting with Wade's own eyes, dull in comparison.

"Hello," they reply, deep and mellifluous, able to calm Wade down with that one word. They tuck a thick strand of hair behind their left ear, casting a shy smile, an even shyer gaze, Wade's way. "I'm Parker," they introduce themself. With each word they say Wade notices the underlying depth, the quiet collective of echoes that is their voice, quiet as if not used to being subdued.

"Why—" Wade clears his throat and tries again, "Why am I here?"

Off-handedly, Parker shrugs, poising tapered fingers over the strings of the instrument. "Why are you here?" they ask, an empty echo.

The question asked to Wade plays in his mind a million times, bouncing off the sides of his brain, a senseless cacophony growing only louder as the firm control Parker has all this time held over him begins to slowly fade away.

With a deep, gut-wrenching sigh Parker uncurls from their seat on the floor, stretching the muscles in his back and shoulders, moving as if this were the first movement they had made in days.

"Come inside," they say, throwing the words over their slim, semi-exposed shoulder as they walk towards the side of the looming mountain. "There are dangerous things out there in these forests."

Wade nods distractedly, the remnants of the trance still holding strong, and follows behind behind Parker. Not for a second questioning the stranger, not questioning their motives. He watches closely as Parker disappears behind a door, concealed perfectly in the hard stone face of the mountain.

Again that simple hesitance, swift realization, dawns over him. Stops him mid-stride, one foot over the threshold, one foot behind. Parker, seemingly sensing these things about Wade as strongly as Wade feels them about himself, turns their head slightly and bestows a small, encouraging smile Wade's way. It is all the convincing that Wade needs.

Parker closes the large stone door, the satisfying thud reverberating throughout the simply furnished rock-walled room.  
In awe, Wade stands; instantly captivated by the rich tones of the sparse furnishings that glow warmly under the candlelight. In this, surrounded by the light of over a dozen candles, Wade gazes upon Parker. Sharply, he inhales. His breath catches in his throat. Parker's skin burns richly in the light of the many tiny dancing flames, their eyes darker than they had appeared earlier. The stranger, it strikes him now, is beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.

"This place— your home— it's beautiful," Wade murmurs, the strength in his voice coming back, but only just.

Smiling shyly as he pours a deep purple liquid from a cask into a pair of earthenware mugs, Parker replies, "Thank you."

Wade nods; in these few hours of this night alone it— the simple movement of his head— has become his only clear response to anything. He traces a hand over the surface of a small table; rich wood like the rest of the room. Mahogany, he thinks. Admittedly, he never was too good at this sort of thing.

A shy smile dances across Parker's slim face, barely raising their dark eyes to gaze at Wade as they step lightly towards the man watching in an enchanted stupor; eyes gracing over Parker, taking in the sway of their hips as they waltz forward. Barefooted footsteps making hardly a noise, almost silent.

"Thanks," Wade says, a murmur, a hush, far softer than he usually would speak; something about the person across from him urges Wade to quieten himself, to be still and be silent. Nodding twice, his hands tighten around the mug, the subtle sweet scent wafting up to his nose.

Peter gazes at him expectantly, eyes large as he watches him. Waits for him to take a sip of the drink.

"I make it myself," Peter explains.

They smile slightly Wade's way as he sniffs at the drink and hesitantly swallows down a first sip. Grin slicing across their face at the red flush colouring Wade's skin, thick warmth of the homemade drink blazing through him.

Addictive, he gulps down a second mouthful. Reluctancy disappearing, he drinks like a man starved of water for years; losing all sense of common decency, he catches himself just barely.

Wade runs his tongue over the purple that stains his upper lip, licking away the remnants of the drink— savouring the taste of unidentifiable berry, of something close to lemon, to vanilla.

"It's amazing," he notes, his tone tinged in awe, acknowledging what Parker had told him. How rude would it be to ask for the recipe? After all, they had just met. "What goes into it?" Wade asks, unable to help himself. The curiosity winning over anything else.

"Berries," they murmur, once again averting their eyes. Deft fingers worry at the hem of a dark brown apron knotted neatly around a slim waist, fingering the leathery trim. A moment passes before Parker continues, "Herbs. Flowers. It isn't important."

Almost as if in understanding, Wade nods. He takes another sip of the amaranthine drink, using all his strength to lift the cup; either suddenly too heavy, or him suddenly too weak.

In mere moments, the sensation travels its way through Wade.

His limbs are heavy in their sockets, long appendages dangling limply. A sharp clatter rings out through the cave; Wade's grip weak, the cup tumbling to the floor.

"What's happening to me?" He asks wildly, tongue leaden in his mouth, the words a muffled, tangled mess.

Soft hands caress him, strong arms caress him gently, clinging onto Wade as in no time at all his legs give out underneath him. Less than gracefully, he falls. If not for the other holding him up, he would have collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Ssh," Parker urges him, cradling the side of Wade's face in the palm of their hand, "It will all make sense when you wake."

Light stutters, a strobe light in a dark room. The air shimmers, buzzes, and Parker's comforting murmurs grow dimmer. Farther and farther away.

Clawing hands reach out to grab ahold of Wade, icy hands that pull him into the all encompassing void; suffocating darkness envelopes him.

  
°

  
Eyes laden, Wade struggles to open them. Shut as if they've been stitched close; as if fighting for them to open would tear away at the eyelids.

Quiet, melodic whistling makes its way to him. The sound distant. Him, hearing it as if through a fog, a drowning mist.  
Seconds tick away, pass slowly. With each one, the static remnants of his memory pieces together.

_Parker._

Sirens blare in his mind. Warning him a tad too late.

Realization dawns on him, alerts him to the sickening, cold restraints creeping the stretch of his wrists and ankles. Something cold and treacly that curls around him, bites into the delicate folds of skin. His limbs outstretch painfully, positions Wade in a grotesque mimic of a starfish. His body sticks firm against the rocky wall of the cave.

With all the strength left in him, Wade fights against the holds. A scream threatens to tear at his throat. A yell. The only sound that Wade is able to make nothing at all like the brutal roar that sits in his chest, a quiet mewl.

"Don't fight with the bonds, angel," Parker warns him lightly, daring to allow caring and warmth to creep into their tone, "You'll hurt yourself."

Anger gnaws at Wade. "Please," he whispers hoarsely, whatever had poisoned him has left his throat dry and raw. "Please, let me go."

"Hush... You don't mean that," cooing, as if they were talking to a child; as if they were smoothly convincing a petulant child to calm down. Dripping with innocence, it sickens Wade.

Parker's barefoot steps echo a hollow, sharp sound as they walk towards the ensnared man. Footsteps that sound stranger than any Wade has ever heard before. Pointed.

Ice cold, wet fingertips brush against Wade's eyelids. A feather light touch is barely a dusting across Wade's sensitive skin; Parker's touch burning him deliciously. The touch wipes away whatever had glued Wade's eyes shut, leaving tiny droplets of water that glisten at the ends of his dark eyelashes. A blur at the edge of his eyesight as his eyes fly open.

Large brown eyes are the first thing that Wade sees— Parker standing mere inches in front of him. Near enough that their noses almost touch. The light warmth of Parker's breath ghosts over Wade.

"What are you— What are you going to do to me?" Wade rasps, each word a battle.

A hand reaches out to caress the curve of Wade's cheek, his neck. "I'm going to take care of you."

They inch away from the man, the tips of their fingers lingering against the expanse of skin. Fingertips drag lightly down his uncovered neck, stroke the exposed flesh that borders the hem of Wade's t-shirt.

Despite himself, Wade whimpers. An amalgam of fear and of bitter longing for touch. Entranced, enthralled by the person in front of him. Entangled in Parker's web of enchantment. Hatred for himself running deep because of it.

His eyes trail over the expanse of Parker's body, a gasp catching at the back of his throat at the sight that he is greeted with.

The same beautiful face that Wade had first seen— all soft angles and pixie-like delicacy— the exposed torso— a defined expanse of flesh marked by fading scars.  
That was where normalcy ended. The lower end of their torso— from the space below their navel— transitioned smoothly into a body terrifying in its similarity to a spider. Hard outer layer of flesh covered with a fine mask of hair, six long legs that curved and narrowed into sharp points.

Wade stares, unashamed. Jaggedly trailing his eyes to meet with Parker's who, in this new form, was far taller than they had been before. Far taller than average.

"Take care of me?" he asks, breathless. Fear taking a firm hold of him.

"Yes," Parker affirms.

The affirmation is quiet. A whisper that should settle Wade into peace, into safety. Calm instead of the shrieking terror that builds inside him. Fear that stirs in the pit of his stomach and tugs at his nerves. Pure, unbridled horror at what he senses is to come.

In a heartbeat, Parker moves.

A flash, a spark, barely a stir; there and gone before Wade has had a moment to register it had ever even been there.

Hardly any warning is given before Parker stands before Wade, pressed flush against him. Their palms rest heavily against Wade's chest, holding him down even though he is already restrained by the thick web.

Parker's lips part into a vicious smile, distorting beautiful features into dark and twisted ones. Their eyes depthless, black mirrors that reflect Wade's image perfectly.  
Wade stares at himself in Parker's eyes, takes in the unrestrained anguish that has painted itself across his face.  
  
Sharp teeth elongate swiftly, almost elegantly, from Parker's mouth and slowly glide over Wade's outstretched arm. It is gentle, as if Parker is pleasuring the feel, as if they expect Wade to pleasure the feel, too.

A silent prayer plays in Wade's mind, a prayer that he has made countless times before; in the solace of his mind, he begs for his life, for forgiveness, for mercy. As always, it goes unanswered.

A cry escapes Wade as teeth begin to sink into the muscled flesh of his arm. Tears prick at his eyes as the extended appendage is torn to pieces. His tortured scream shatters the eery quiet that has descended on them.

Logan was right, he thinks, despite himself. There is an evil in the woods. And that evil disguises itself as startling beauty.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The supernatural creature that Peter appears as in this fic, and with whom I've taken my own fluid creative liberties with, is the Jorōgumo.
> 
> The Jorōgumo, whose name literally means "binding woman" or "prostitute spider", is demonic in nature.  
> The legend being that when a spider lives for 400 years it gains the ability to grow to the size of a cow and can shape-shift into an attractive young lady.  
> One typical trick it would play to catch a meal would be to transform into an empty inn, house or shrine. Part of it would become an attractive young lady playing on a Biwa and singing beautifully to attract its victim. Some would lure the person in to eat cake and drink sake.  
> She would then get close to her victim and cover his feet in deadly silk from which there was no escape. She, like most spiders, would then devour him at her own leisure. Jorōgumos are said to reside near waterfalls and lakes.
> 
> •—•—•—•
> 
> If you want to see how I procrastinate, shoot me some asks or just hang out, you can find me on Tumblr at [aycebasketcase](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aycebasketcase)


End file.
